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A smile tugged at Eleanor’s mouth, and she ducked her head to hide it. Rowena’s response had been decidedly chilly. At least she was not the only one to find their traveling companion vulgar and irritating!
“I believe Lady Wincanton may have a friend there,” offered Caroline, speaking up for the first time. “I heard her tell Lord Wincanton this morning that they must visit her the week after their arrival. She specifically mentioned that she lived in Golden Square.”
“Oh, indeed?” said Lady Yarborough, visibly delighted. “Thank you, Miss Caroline. You are a most helpful young lady,” she added, flicking a cold glance at Eleanor to let her know she was not. “I shall have to inquire of Lady Wincanton and ask to be introduced.”
Eleanor didn’t know whether to cringe in horror or laugh. It was one thing for a friend to ask you to introduce them to someone else in your circle, but Lady Yarborough had never been among Lady Wincanton’s set.
According to Rowena, upon marrying Sir Yarborough, the woman had spent just one summer in the country before claiming an adverse reaction to the air and insisting on remaining in London year-round for the sake of her delicate constitution. Looking at her now, Eleanor found it hard to imagine anyone less delicate. It was rumored that she’d returned to Somerset only because her lord husband had finally put his foot down after their son had been born, refusing to let the child be raised in Town.
Lady Yarborough had mourned her exile bitterly and publicly, effectively alienating everyone in the county that might have been willing to offer friendship. Now that her son was on the market, however, she was trying to be sociable—an endeavor which was fast proving disastrous. Lady Wincanton would undoubtedly deem any request for an introduction highly improper, to say nothing of the insult of being perceived as naught more than a rung on the social ladder. To Eleanor’s knowledge, the only time the two women saw each other was at church.
Rowena must have been thinking along the same lines. “Oh, yes. I do remember something about her having a friend there now—but I don’t think she would be anyone of interest to you,” she said carefully. “If my memory serves, the lady in question is quite elderly.”
But Lady Yarborough wouldn’t be dissuaded. “Nonsense! I shall be most obliged to meet her and extend the hand of friendship. After all, we’ll practically be neighbors.” A calculating look entered her eyes, and she laughed a little. “I shall at the very least invite her to tea. Perhaps you might join us, Miss Caroline?”
Eleanor looked at once to Rowena, but her face remained impassive save for a slight tightening around the eyes. For Lady Yarborough to so obviously exclude them was a deliberate and shocking affront, especially when one considered that she was being allowed to share their transport to London. Now Eleanor knew just how angry the woman really was over her chastisement—enough to toss all good sense straight to hell.
By contrast, Caroline’s face was full of worry—a good sign in Eleanor’s opinion. Perhaps now she had a better understanding of what she’d be getting into if she encouraged the woman’s spawn. “Caroline? I’m sure you’d find that lovely, would you not?” she prompted, giving her friend the tiniest of nods to let her know all was well and to accept the invitation. To decline would only set the ill-mannered cat against her, too, and Caroline could ill afford an enemy.
“I—I should be delighted,” answered Caroline, looking anything but.
Lady Yarborough’s haughty gaze rested squarely on Eleanor as she replied, “Excellent. I shall be sure to send an invitation as soon as we are settled. Now, how far did you say it was to our first stopping point, Lady Ashford?”
Too far, thought Eleanor, turning to look out of the window so as not to further provoke the contemptible woman. There were 116 miles between Holbrook and London. It was going to be a very long journey. She wondered how the gentlemen were faring.
They’d not yet traveled five miles before the pressure building at the back of his head made Sorin want to turn his horse around and gallop straight back to Holly Hall. Yarborough had not ceased bragging about his so-called “accomplishments” since they’d passed the main gate at Holbrook. The lad was more of a fool than he’d thought possible. Worse, he was a fool with a cruel streak as broad as the Thames.
The blackguard seemed to delight in the misery of those he viewed as less clever than himself—which, Sorin suspected, was everyone. His caustic witticisms spared none, not even those he named friends.
A rich, but rather dim cousin duped into marrying a pauper by means of borrowed gowns and paste jewelry was the source of amused warnings and much unsolicited advice on how to avoid being similarly deceived. Then there was the chum from university unfortunate enough to marry the toast of the Season only to find himself a cuckold a few months later, a story that elicited Yarborough’s crude laughter and bawdy jests about how to be certain one’s wife truly bore her lord’s fruit and not the offspring of a lover. “Not that I shall ever have to worry about that,” he’d added with a nasty leer. “I shall keep my field well planted and leave no room for another to till it.”
Several times Sorin experienced an almost overpowering urge to draw his horse alongside and knock Yarborough senseless. Had Eleanor not been a member of their party, he would have done it. He could tell Charles was growing annoyed, as well, and wondered how the ladies were faring.
“Mothe
r and I plan to host a ball this Season,” said Yarborough for the third time. “The ballroom in our new house in Golden Square is simply splendid. I thought at first to have the frescos redone but in the end I decided I rather liked the existing ones, even if they are a bit out of fashion. I’ve furnished the place with the best London has to offer, though I expect my bride will want to redecorate according to her own taste.” He glanced back at the coach and smirked. “I shall, of course, defer to m’lady’s wishes.”
Sorin ground his teeth. If this lack-wit thought Eleanor would succumb to his smooth words and dubious charms, he had a rude awakening ahead of him. “One hopes that your bride and your lady mother will be in accord regarding such matters,” he said, striving for detachment.
Ahead of them, Charles began to chuckle. “He’s right, you know,” he cast back over his shoulder. “Many a marriage has been soured by contention between warring females. When I first married, I was more worried about how my wife and my mother would get on than anything else. I count myself blessed that they liked each other so well.” Another chuckle. “Though I will admit it could be quite uncomfortable when all of the females in my house were united against me.”
An impertinent grin split Yarborough’s face. “My mother will be so happy to see me married that I doubt she’ll object to anything my wife wishes. Her sole desire is to witness the birth of my heir—which will of course be my first priority once married.”
Again, Sorin’s jaw tightened as Yarborough once more glanced back at the coach bearing Eleanor. The thought of this wheckering muck-spout ever spawning was bad enough, but to imagine Eleanor as the vessel turned his stomach. “I’m going to fall back and check on my mother,” he announced, reining in.
The look Charles shot him was a piercing one, and again he wondered if his old friend suspected something. It didn’t matter. Another minute of listening to Yarborough and he would open his mouth and give himself away for certain. As he fell back, the coach containing Eleanor passed him by. Someone—Eleanor—was delivering what was unmistakably a scathing recrimination. Before he could catch any more than the briefest snatch of the conversation, however, the carriage passed out of earshot.
He smiled grimly. It appeared things were going as well for the ladies as they were for the gentlemen. Drawing alongside his own carriage, he tapped on the window. The curtain twitched aside, revealing his mother’s annoyed countenance. A moment later, one of the smaller side windows opened.
“What is it? Have we encountered a problem?”
“All is well, Mother,” he assured. “I simply wanted to be sure of your comfort.”
A frosted brow lifted. “Comfort is not something one associates with travel.” Her gaze flicked over his face and narrowed. “I sense there is another reason why you abandoned Ashford. Is the Yarborough fellow really so intolerable?”
There was no point in hiding it. “He shall count himself fortunate if I don’t throttle him before our journey’s end.”
“How glad I am that I did not offer to share my conveyance.” Amusement lit her eyes.
